October, heavy longing while aloof,
The copper rain deluge, derision wrought.
For scarce do silver sands yield any proof
Of autumn’s leafy harvest at this spot.
Like monarch’s exodus to warmer plots,
Withdraw, they, expeditiously beyond
My soul’s embrace. So, too, the Duchess brought
Her royal right, unblinking, to abscond,
As I, her only suitor, stare with blighted bond.
For never did I scrutiny entice
In noblewoman. To pursue and gain,
Or abdicate my ailing heart’s device?
As Countess Moon to always trail the mane
Of Sun’s cloak, blackest, never to abstain,
Then also I of feckless drink partake.
For, not withstanding, could, regard, obtain
I? Or, to loot the russet strands with rake
Of fingers ‘cross the threaded hair abashed, awake?
In love with Duchess Autumn–hope postponed;
By candle’s sight, the singing wind conveys
A single leaf. A sign, a motive shown:
To come? Or, warning to depart? Allay
myself! There, crossroads do wholly betray
Her candied voice, acoustic chorus freed,
A prism’s prison kindled loose, lips frayed!
Then swift, my gait, upon the road, in greed–
But company, the blazoned brows eschewed indeed!